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By Ricey WildNews From Indian Country 12-09

Ah! December! I like to reflect upon and contemplate significant events in my life this past year. I also puzzle over insignificant and meaningless happenings, just for the fun of it. Like the time I... well, there is only so much space in my column to share with yall the minute breathes I take and whether or not I have a positive attitude today.

If you are somewhat maybe sorta interested to know, I have a FaceBook page. I do post occasionally but have not yet mastered the art of posting things about me and my life that any of my ahem! FRIENDS care about. I try hard to be witty (no one gets my intent) but all anyone cares about is Farmville, Mafia Wars and other goofy games that make no sense to me at all.

That being said, Every now and then I Google or in this case, Bing both my names to catch up on what Ive been doing lately, and even last year. Things happen so quick! Yooz know what I mean. Imagine my consternation when I found out that some Indian woman is fronting my name online as Ricey Wild! Oh she tries to hide it by calling herself manoomin which means wild rice but the ploy is so pathetic! Shahhhh! There is only one me and yall should be glad, very, very glad. I am.

The chick who is plagarizing my name isnt the first to do so. Other Indians have tried to pass my writing off as their own. No, I dont like it for a lot of reasons; I am a fiercely possessive person and take pride in my work. Any time I can get someone to laugh or think of another point of view or anyone who casually picks up News From Indian Country to see whats up in the Indian community, and my column gives them a chuckle? I feel good about that.

My puzzlement is why anyone would ever want to be me, even in cyberspace. Trust me, you dont. A few times now Ive been startled to realize I shoulda been dead long ago considering the shenanigans I went through. I dont have to have a grizzled beard or hair growing out of my ears to be a veteran of lifes school of hard knocks. The rollercoaster ride is stuck thus far.

When do I get a break, ay? Sigh.

Just now at a very late/early hour I hung up the phone with my best friend Melissa after talking for over three hours, which is the norm for us. To my left ears relief, I cut her short (gotta go!) so I can be sure this December column makes the paper. After I said that, we talked for another half n hour, then sent hugs n smooches through the live wires assuring one another that we love each other best, and even more than that. Yeah, we have always been competitive but who has too much love? There is no such thing. Not in our world.

The conversation between me n Missy morphed all schitzophrenically like it always does. The main most interesting topic we kept coming back to was a cathartic experience of getting rid of literal physical stuff.

Yup. Im throwing all the useless junk out of my house, or giving it all away. I recently donated my neon orange stilleto pumps that were a gift to me, to Goodwill so another hottie can use them. I hope she makes me proud.

Like most of my family I love and collect stuff. Like most Americans I am bedazzled and hypnotized by all the newest groovy cyber/techno-stuff that back in the day we never knew we needed until now and that I cant afford. Truth? I dont want to be that accessible. Creeps me out. What if a satellite records me taking a break by the side of a rez road and I get a ticket from space? Thats just wrong. I need my privacy.

Why no one wants to be me part two. This past year I fell up my old cement back stairs carrying too much stuff and one of my flip-flops tripped me up. The glass I was carrying shattered except for a wickedly sharp edge and I fell on it. My left hand was sliced open, an artery was cut and I could have bled out to death.

Then I had surgery on my birthday, which no one acknowledged, and started a new job in a cast. A big part of my new job was typing but I didnt let that stop me. Then my old beloved rez beater had some major issues that needed fixing right away. The short story is I got ripped off, bamboozled by an old white guy. Sheez. I needed to bring my car to the Indian guy who has the most cars in the yard. Youd assume by now, I would have learned. Spend your money in the community!

To my great dismay I quit my job for the Rez paper. In terms of being perfect for it, I am. Rezberrians loved my writing for the paper, I got along with everyone and I miss them. I quit to protest daily abusive behavior from my supervisor. Yeah, Im poor right now, but at least I dont have to put up with that crap anymore.

Life is too short and Im too good to put up with hateful behavior. I must be getting old.